The Devil's bed

chapter
forty-eight

Lorna Channing opened the door to the Oval Office. “He’ll see you now, Senator.”

William Dixon came in, grinning as if he’d just arrived at a barbecue in his honor. “Well, well,” he said, seeing the president and the First Lady standing together. “Now there’s a lovely family portrait. Good to have you back, Katie. Brought Stephanie home, I hope. I’ve missed that little girl.”

“Sit down,” the president said.

“Thank you, I believe I will. The leg’s been acting up a bit lately. Keeps me awake at night sometimes.” The senator eased himself onto the couch and settled his cane beside him. “Know what I do at night when I can’t sleep, Clayboy? I lie there remembering. Couldn’t tell you what I had for dinner last night, but I can tell you the color of your mother’s dress the first time we met. Blue, just like a Colorado sky.” He stared at the rug a moment, as if he were seeing woven among the threads an image from nearly sixty years before. Then he lifted his dark eyes toward his son. “I remember a lot of strange old things at night. I remember the first man I ever saw die. A kid named Jorge Rodriguez. From Spanish Harlem. A Jap sniper put a bullet right there.” He touched a spot below his left eye. “That was on my first day in the Philippines. I saw a lot more kids die after that. Too many to remember them all.”

“That’s war, Senator,” the president said.

“Know what I would like, Clay? I would like it if you called me Dad.”

“This isn’t-” the president began.

“I know what this isn’t.”

William Dixon looked steadily at his son, then at his daughter-in-law. Behind him, in that long moment of silence that fell over the room, Channing very quietly opened the door to the Oval Office.

“I’d like to tell you a story,” the First Lady said.

“I’m all ears, Katie.” William Dixon looked up at her with an indulgent smile.

“In Minnesota, the Ojibwe used to tell of a monster that sometimes came out of the woods to prey on villages. It was called the Windigo, a terrible beast with a heart of ice who fed on the flesh of the Ojibwe people. Because it was so large and so fierce, it terrified even the bravest warrior. There was only one way you could fight the Windigo. You had to become a Windigo yourself, submit to whatever dark magic was necessary to turn you into an ogre, too. But there was an awful risk. You had to be sure that someone who loved you was waiting with hot tallow for you to drink after you killed the monster. The hot tallow would melt your icy heart and bring you back down to the size of other people. If there was no one to help you in that way, you ended up staying a Windigo. You became forever the thing you set out to destroy.”

“Interesting story, Katie, but I’m afraid the point missed me.”

“I want you to know I forgive you, Bill. It’s my way of offering hot tallow.”

He stared up at her with an uncomprehending look. “That’s wonderful, really. But I still don’t understand.”

“NOMan,” Clay Dixon said.

The senator’s eyes swung toward his son, and for an instant, his face seemed to soften. “That’s a pretty chilly tone. You sound like a man whose heart is ice.”

The president said, “I’ve ordered a suspension of all functions performed by National Operations Management, and mandatory administrative leave for NOMan personnel.”

“That’s quite a layoff. It could alienate a lot of voters.”

“Even as we speak, evidence is being gathered by federal law enforcement agencies. I anticipate a number of indictments against key government officials, both inside and outside NOMan.”

“Evidence of what? Indictments on what charges?”

“We both know what I’m talking about. National Operations Management, or NOMan as you seem to prefer it be called, operates from a much different agenda than its mandate calls for. From what we’re uncovering, it’s evident that NOMan has worked for decades in a covert manner to influence events of national scope and importance. Let me be clear. By covert, I’m speaking of nothing less than murder.

“Most recently, NOMan was responsible for the murder of Robert Lee, for the murder of a Secret Service agent named Diana Ishimaru, and for a plot to assassinate the First Lady and her father. I’ve asked for further investigation into the death of Alan Carpathian, whom, I’m now convinced, you had killed in the hope of opening the door of the White House to NOMan.

“These actions, and others that are coming to light, go far beyond murder. They’re clearly treasonous in their effect of subverting the authority of the federal government. They strike at the heart of the legal and constitutional processes that underlie this nation.”

The senator clapped his hands. “That’s quite a speech. Where are the cameras?” He shook his head. “You know, Clayboy, to the average American voter you’ll sound like a lunatic. If I were you, I wouldn’t rely too heavily on the things Tom Jorgenson has said. After what that poor man’s been through, that awful head injury and then his stroke, I’m betting it won’t be hard to convince the American people that he’s just a little confused. You go public with your accusations and you’ll throw the election away.”

“My first responsibility is to this nation, Senator, to do my best to see that it’s secure from enemies outside our borders and within.”

“Enemies?” A deep, angry flush colored the senator’s usual white pallor, and his knuckles humped tight over the head of his cane. “I remember the first time I laid eyes on you. You weren’t much bigger than my hand. I promised myself that my son would never go through the kind of hell I’d gone through. I promised myself that if I had anything to do with it, no man’s son ever would.

“I’m going to speculate here for just a minute. If NOMan actually functioned in the way you seem to believe, it could be that this country never had a better friend. Do you have any idea of the number of international blunders, partisan follies, and just plain crazy decisions made by the men in this office that have resulted in tragedies of catastrophic proportions?” He pointed a finger at his son. “You presidents. You come here with a dream, at best. At worst, you’ve got a laundry list of ill-conceived notions. You’re here for a few years, and then you’re a footnote in history. In war, it would be like letting green recruits play general. You have no idea of the havoc you wreak.

“But maybe there are those who do, men and women who know firsthand the pain caused by the bunglings and betrayals of this office and others. And if they’ve committed their lives and their fortunes to doing their best to help this country avoid disaster whenever possible, then I’d certainly be tempted to applaud them.

“Enemies? Clayboy, you’re so concerned about keeping all those trophies of yours polished that you wouldn’t know a friend if he bit you on the ass.

“I’ll tell you something, Mister President. You can shut down the agency. You can draw up a mountain of indictments. But an organization like that can’t be stopped. Its people are everywhere. You go forward with all this, and I swear you’ll be nothing but history’s whipping boy.”

“Are you finished?”

“Not by a long shot.”

“I think you are.”

“We’ll see,” Dixon said. “We’ll just see.” He stood and turned toward the door, but found his way blocked by a man in a wheelchair whom Lorna Channing had quietly brought into the room.

The president said, “Senator, I’d like you to meet Bo Thorsen. In my estimation, a great patriot. This man risked everything, his reputation and his life, for his country. I wanted you to see him and him to see you. In war, you should look into the face of your enemy and understand that it’s human. Bo, I’d like you to meet Senator William Dixon. One of the fathers of NOMan, and my father as well.”

The senator fixed Bo with a stony glare. “When I look at you, it’s not a patriot I see.”

Bo replied with a pleasant smile, “You know, you’re much smaller than I imagined.”